Tears Can Kill You
by HotChilliGriffin
Summary: How Kate was caught by the Others in 2:11. Long one-shot. Reviews appreciated. Teen for language.


**Tears can kill you**

_And if I ever lose my eyes,_

_I won't have to cry no more_

_-Cat Stevens, Moon Shadow_

If there's one thing Kate Austin knows, it's that tears can kill you. Tears mean weakness, and that will kill you. And despite everything that's ever happened, everything she's done, she doesn't want to die. 

So no matter what happens, she won't cry. She'll be strong and calm and will _fucking kill_ anyone who comes near her, who tries to make her seem weak.

She has no idea of time. She only knows the suddenness of the attack – one minute, she's bending down to focus on a footprint (it's Michaels – by Jack and Sawyer and Locke's trail they didn't even see this one) – the next, there's someone behind her. He has her arms behind her back, and if she'd screamed then maybe someone would have heard – she's not too far behind her friends now.

She'd always planned on meeting up with Jack. If she turned up twenty miles from camp, having followed him this far without him seeing her, then surely he couldn't make her go back? He didn't own her! He couldn't _make_ her do anything.

She was getting closer, because as a rule, the more people in the group, the slower they move. But when she felt him grab her, she didn't scream, not immediately. Her first instinct was to fight – in her world, capture meant being overpowered. And rarely would someone help a fugitive escape just because she _screamed_ at the damn cops.

So her first move, without thinking, is to swing one leg back and up, try and twist around and get the upper hand. He's got her arms (she can tell it's a 'he', by the smell, which is male, and the roughness of the skin), but if she could turn around...

Her hands are already bound with a tight cord. She realises that whoever her attacker is – and she doesn't want to think about it, because there's only one explanation – he's strong, and skilled at this. He's pushing back her resistance like it was nothing.

And only then does she remember to scream. There is nothing so powerful or carrying as a woman's scream (with the possible exception of a baby's – but they cry all the time so people tend to ignore them). But even before she opens her mouth, he's clamping a very strong hand against it, and then comes the bit she's been dreading. And to be dreading it – she was expecting it as well.

She feels the cold muzzle of a gun balanced loosely against the back of her neck. The casualness of it doesn't fool her. She's no longer trying to scream, she's now trying to fight the panic that's rising up like a tsunami, building and building and threatening to wipe her out.

"Make a single noise, and you die," a voice says from behind her. And now it's real. It's oh-so-real.

_Shit_, she thought. She didn't swear much out loud, but sometimes these things were called for. _Fuck. Oh Lord above, God help me._ She thought it all, but didn't say a word. She gave the tiniest nod, to let her attacker know she wasn't going to say anything, or scream, or fight...

That really galled her. The worst thing of all was when she stopped fighting. But there wasn't really anything she could do right now. She had no idea how badly he wanted her alive – and thus, she had no idea whether his threat to kill her was a bluff or not. It didn't sound like one, but then, that was the point, wasn't it?

She could see in front of her, but didn't dare move her head and look at whoever was still holding her bound arms in a vice like grip with _one hand_, his other hand still across her mouth. As far as she could tell, there was only one of them. But then, one gun, one bullet, was one too many to fight against.

He removed his hand, and she wanted to question him – ask what he wanted, what he was doing – but still she kept quiet. Her hands were shaking the teensiest bit, and she clenched her fingers, praying that he didn't notice.

Weakness, after all, could kill her. He wasn't in the mood for questioning, obviously – he was already pulling a rough piece of fabric into her mouth, and the taste almost made her retch. The panic was building, and with it, the overpowering feeling of hopelessness and helplessness. But she blinked steadily, forcing herself not to cry.

Then he pulled a hood over her head, and the darkness was almost a blessed _relief_ – she sucked in a breath at the same time as she felt the presence of the gun at her neck disappear, and then he nudged the back of her knee and she stumbled forward.

Now that she was walking, blind, alone, terrified, there was nothing to distract her from her thoughts.

The primary one was the wish that she had stayed home. Next to that, the logical side of her was trying to work out which direction they were going, how she'd escape. The idea that she wouldn't escape, that any attempts would be unsuccessful – the thought wasn't allowed to cross her mind. Then there was the panicking side of her, the one she fought so hard to repress all the time, the one she never let out. It was also, ironically, the honest side of her. But in her life, honesty never led to good things. So it was crushed too.

The weakness in her, that she fought so hard, even harder than she'd fought her mystery attacker only... what? Five minutes ago? God. God help her. The tears were coming at her now, stinging her eyes so painfully she wanted to pull them out. The tears that threatened everything she'd made herself. The tears that kept coming out whenever she could no longer pretend that she didn't care, or that she was strong enough to look after herself.

The tears that kept proving how weak she was. As weak as Wayne had always said she was. Well, she'd shown him, and she'd show these bastards. If they gave her an inch, she'd kill the fucking lot of them.

So far she wasn't thinking so much about the _who_. She just knew it was the same _who_ who had kidnapped Claire and Charlie, who had attacked Ana-Lucia's group so many times, who had probably been responsible for the burning raft, for attacking the new raft, for shooting Sawyer (to all intents, trying to kill him).

Kate felt the fear coming up, with its long-time companions anger and despair.

And before she knew it, her eyes were wet, and she was crying. She tried to keep it silent, to stop a single noise escaping her, and to stop her shoulders from trembling. She would not, definitely would NOT let them know what she felt. What they were making her feel.

Because even though she was weak, she doesn't want to die. And even though she's alive now, she's scared on a level she's never visited before. Nothing is so frightening as the bleak unknown, the constant possibility of surprise.

Even when the Marshall had finally caught her, she hadn't been _scared_, not really. She'd known exactly what would happen. Not like this – she didn't know if they were going to keep her alive. Had she been targeted? Was this just a random attack?

Something in the way they were moving changed. Kate tried to estimate how long since she'd been caught – half an hour? If she were so lucky. It probably hadn't been long at all. But then she heard voices – she couldn't really make out what they were saying. She didn't really want to know. She heard enough to know that her captor was showing her off like some sort of prize. The humiliation was strong, now.

She was shoved down, so she was sitting on a log, her hands slowly turning numb. She wished she could see, that might help her understand what was going on. She needed to see, and blink away these stupid tears that were still hovering dangerously close to the overflow point.

If ever she'd been weak, then it was now. She felt a terrible certainty – if they wanted her dead, they'd have no trouble. She was just sitting here. They could have made their decision and be aiming a gun at her right now... she'd never see it coming. She didn't know if she was being watched, guarded – she couldn't take the risk of running, though, even if she could get to her feet and not run into a tree.

Then the voices nearby became more distinct – she recognised some of them. Jack! Her heart thudded painfully, because she didn't know what this meant, either. Had he been captured, too? Or was he here to rescue her? _Don't be stupid_, she thought. _He doesn't even know you're here._

And once again, she wished that she'd stayed in the hatch, and pushed the button like a good little girl... but no. Well, if Jack had let her go _with_ him, instead of forcing her to follow him secretly...

A gunshot. She whipped around, trying to tell where it had come from. Who it was aimed at. Were her friends okay? Was she okay?

The hopeless feeling of not knowing crept back up to her. She smothered it as well as she could, but she felt herself shaking. A single moment of weakness, and they'd pounce. She'd break into nothing, have nothing left. Tears can kill you.

Then she was being grabbed, pushed up, and she struggled momentarily, but whoever it was had caught her by surprise – she was pushed away, and held by someone else.

_It's all over_, she thought, terrified._ They've realised they don't need you, they're going to kill you..._

The man holding her pulled off the hood, and suddenly she could see! She almost wished she couldn't. This was almost as bad as death.

The look on Jack's face as Beardy said, "She was following you." Kate tried to meet his eyes, to say sorry without words. Because she was sorry. So, so, sorry, in a way she'd never been before. He'd never understand how sorry.

Sawyer, at least, tried to help her. He started forward, but then Beardy pulled out the gun and pointed it straight at her. _Back at this, now?_ she thought bitterly. She didn't know what he was trying to make Jack do, but she was hoping he'd do it. But by God, would he be mad at her. If they didn't kill her. If they didn't kill Jack.

And now, now was the battle – if a single tear came through right now, she swore to herself she'd make sure there were no witnesses to it. She'd kill every one of them. But as to how... she wasn't sure. So she'd have to win this fight, and keep her face dry.

_Tears can kill you_, she thought.

"Do you think you could live with yourself if I shot this woman right in front of you, when you could have saved her life by giving up and going home?" her captor asked Jack. Kate swallowed roughly, the gag making it very hard. _He's going to kill me.__ Please, God, no._ The way he'd said that... he sounded so sincere. There was no bluff there.

"I'm going to count to three," Beardy said, and Kate knew what would happen at three. Felt her pulse accelerate so that she was sure any machine that tried to measure it would burst. The gun stayed steady, pressing into her throat.

_Don't cry._

"One."

Jack! She called, but the gag turned her cry into a strangled sob. She could see the look on his face, and recognised it – hardened. Icy. The look of someone who was just going to stand there and let it happen.

"Two."

_Don't cry. Coward, you weakling, don't fucking cry!_

_Oh God. Please, God, I don't want to die._

"Three." Kate heard the word, and was sure she heard the gun fire, felt the shattering pain of the bullet hitting her neck and ploughing straight through –

"Stop." Kate could barely stand up by herself. Her legs were about to fold under her. And the overpowering relief. Jack had surrendered. She was alive. Even if she didn't deserve it.

---

"You okay?" he asked, cold. She could barely answer. All she could see was the look in his eyes. He was going to kill her – in the good way, of course.

* * *

Okay, just there is a little button. You have two choices: call me telepathically and comment on the story, or, if I don't respond, press the button. My telepathy's been a little unpredicatble lately, so it may save time if you just use the latter option. 


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